Conspiracy theory
Pandemic Poetry
Covid-19 was created in a lab,
invented by the Chinese,
coordinated by the Russians
as a bio-weapon to weaken the world
for the communist uprising,
Donald Trump just a stool pigeon,
the slow kid told to watch the bank door.
Covid-19 is a media hoax,
an orchestrated panic,
a manufactured crisis
meant to place false blame
on the presidential enemy,
none of the stories are real,
none of the people are real,
nurses and doctors mere actors
in a passion play,
hospitals empty,
storehouses filled with unused
ventilators and masks,
state borders sealed
by the National Guard,
to lower stock prices
for the next great surge
of wealth to the wealthy.
Covid-19 is the next Sandy Hook,
the next Las Vegas shooting,
the next Pulse nightclub
where the victims have names
no one can trace back
to actual lives, graveyards
full of empty coffins,
invoices for extras
stuffed in black filing cabinets
in bunkers underground.
Covid-19 isn’t a virus at all,
it’s radiation sickness,
cellphone towers going up
in every city of the world
transmitting poison
through the phone
you hold right next to your ear,
vibrating the cells of your brain,
of your body, like popcorn kernels
simmering in butter
at the bottom of the microwavable bag,
the price paid for milliseconds,
bandwidth and speed,
the Pandora’s code
of broadband 5G.
Covid-19 is population control,
a genocide device
deemed necessary by the Deep State,
the shadow government
run by George Soros and the Jews,
the Masons and the Rothschilds,
puppeteering society back from collapse
by disposing of the dispensable,
an entire generation of sycophants,
sucklers at the teat of social security,
mouth breathers and Cadillac cruisers,
driving the temperature of the globe
up by endangering degrees.
Covid-19 is the currency of fear,
proving the value of worship,
the truth of economic servitude
to an invisible master,
where an entire food chain
operates on the premise
of gravity without a planet,
of oceans replaced with gasoline,
of infinite meals removed of their calories,
chocolate pie that tastes like paper,
digital numbers clothed in smoke,
everyone reaching for the top rung
made from the blade
of the butcher’s knife.
Covid-19 is whatever you need it to be,
anything but the novel coronavirus
that somehow mutated and crossed
the barrier between animals and men,
anything but an existential threat
shortening the distance
to that limitless horizon
tomorrow has always been,
anything but refrigerated trucks
backing up to hospital morgues
overflowing with the dead,
anything but a beacon
shining its light through the curtain
that once was the illusion of control,
that thin fabric you pulled over the window
that let you believe you had somewhere to go.
__________
Get the book.
